St Patrick's Day 2012
by Jade Nolan
Summary: Mac is working St. Patrick's Day evening, but Flack manages to drag him out of his office and tricks him into an unexpected night


**A/N: ** _First off, the disclaimer - all characters created by CBS are owned by them. Anyone else is owned by me._

_Second, I want to send a huge thanks to my fellow CSI: NY and Mac write, **MacsLady**, for providing me with the inspiration and reference for part of this story and for giving me permission to elaborate on her brief mention of it in her story_ :)

_That being said, enjoy the story, and I hope you like it!_

* * *

><p><strong>St. Patrick's Day 2012<strong>

"No! Absolutely not!"

Flack lowered his hand that was about to knock on Mac's office door as even through the closed glass he heard Mac's emphatic denial to someone he was having a conversation with. Mac was on the phone facing away from his door, and from the rigidity in his back and shoulders, Flack could see that his fellow detective was furious about something. He opted not to interrupt, and simply slipped in and waited for Mac's conversation to be over.

"No, I don't care if the _mayor_ told you you could call here, I am not giving you any information on a case in progress!" Mac slammed the phone down and turned around. If he was momentarily surprised by Flack's seeming sudden appearance leaning against his wall, he showed it for only the briefest of seconds.

"Reporters?" Flack asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"How do they even get this number?" Mac asked, disbelieving angry frustration written all over his face.

Flack shrugged. "Who did they say told them to call you?"

"Sinclair," Mac snorted.

"He probably _did_ give them your number so he wouldn't have to deal them," Flack observed.

Mac glared as he slammed a folder down on his desk. "Probably did," he muttered murderously. "So," he added, straightening up and clearing a portion of his irritation and the recent phone call from his mind, "What brings you up here? Isn't it your day off?"

"You know what day it is today?" Flack returned, answering Mac's question with a question.

Mac frowned, "Saturday."

"Uh-huh," said Flack, "And…?"

"And…?" Mac replied, purposefully ignoring the obvious.

"It's St. Patrick's Day, Mac," Flack answered, "It's Saturday, St. Patrick's Day, it's after 7pm, you're Irish, your best friend is Irish, and you're still at work. Do you not see a little bit of a problem here?"

Mac shot Flack a look.

"You know I'm not letting you out of this," Flack told his friend with small grin.

Mac sat down at his desk and pulled over the folder that he had thrown down the minute before, but Flack could see Mac start to relax at even the thought of heading out for a few drinks.

"And why aren't you out with Christine anyway?" Flack continued, "She's pretty, you like her," Flack winked at Mac who scowled fiercely, "Have a few drinks on St. Paddy's and an excuse to have fun…you never know what could happen," Flack finished, his eyes twinkling.

Mac shot daggers at his friend's incorrigible bluntness and needling. But what made it worse was that it was all true, and Mac had spent nearly the entire day alternatively wishing he could do exactly what Flack was giving him a hard time for _not_ doing and being made rather unsettled by how much he wanted to go out with her and by his runaway imagination with what might happen. His resulting distraction and frustration had made him in a rather bad mood all day.

"I already told her I was working," he informed Flack.

Flack looked floored, but not entirely unsurprised. "So she already asked if you were free, and you said you were working? You're the boss of this whole place, Mac!" Flack told him, spreading his arms to his sides, "You can take off whenever you want." He shook his head, "You worry me sometimes, you know. Well I'm at least dragging you out of here and we're having a good time, end of story."

Mac didn't get out of his chair and persisted in reviewing the reports that were in the folder.

"I'm going to actually unplug your computer if you don't turn it off, and lock that folder in my desk," Flack threatened, taking a couple steps towards where Mac was sitting. Mac tried to glare at him again, but Flack could see his friend try to smother a smile.

"Come on," Flack coaxed with a jerk of his head towards the door, "Let's get out of here."

Mac really didn't need any further persuasion to escape all the 'what if's' that he knew he would brood about if he remained at work. "All right," he said, standing up, "I guess I don't have a choice, do I."

"Nope," said Flack cheerfully.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What are we doing here?" Mac asked as Flack pulled up in front of his apartment building.

Flack shifted a bit in his seat, "I kinda already told a couple of my buddies you'd jam with them tonight."

"You did what?" Mac asked incredulously.

Flack shrugged sheepishly. "I promised them, Mac" he said, when Mac didn't budge.

Mac sighed. "Fine," he said. He pointed at Flack, "But you owe me."

"I think I can live with that," Flack grinned. "First round's on me."

"First _two_, and we'll see from there," Mac returned, getting out of the car.

"Deal," said Flack.

"Please tell me I don't need to bring my amp as well," Mac said, looking back through the window.

"Nah, you should be all set," Flack replied, "They said they had everything."

Mac nodded and disappeared to grab his stuff. He found his mood increasingly lightening as his turned the key to his apartment door and stepped inside. It was Sunday tomorrow and he really was off, and it had been a while since he'd been presented with the perfect setup to kick back and enjoy more than a couple drinks. Not to mention he found himself looking forward to getting Flack hammered. In fact he outright grinned at the thought. Grabbing and setting his bass and amp cord by the door, he made a last minute decision for comfort and went to replace his dress pants with a pair of dark jeans before heading back out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_O'Shaughnessy's_ was packed, as was every other Irish and non-Irish bar in the city. But _O'Shaughnessy's_ was one of the true Irish bars in the area and had gained quite the reputation for its non-pretentious atmosphere and regular live, authentic music. It reminded Mac quite a bit of the family-owned Irish pubs around where he had grown up in Chicago, just on a bit of a bigger scale.

Miraculously snagging seats that had just gotten vacated at one of the high tables that went down the middle of the establishment, Mac perched himself on one of the chairs while Flack headed to get them both drinks.

"What do you want?" he asked Mac.

"Killian's," Mac replied, "Two of them."

"Getting both rounds at once?" Flack asked.

"Oh no!" Mac laughed, "You didn't put a quantity limit on what each round consists of."

"That," said Flack pointing at his friend, "Is cheating."

"Nope," Mac returned, "It's you not being specific and me taking advantage."

"You're a sneaky bastard," Flack told him.

"And you're not?" Mac retorted.

"You're worse," Flack returned, "I'm just charming and convincing, and maybe a little sneaky. You're a ninja."

" 'Charming and convincing'," Mac scoffed, laughing, as Flack disappeared to push his way through to the crowded bar. He lounged back in his chair, finding himself automatically drumming his fingers on the table to a rhythm line and mentally singing along to 'Whiskey in the Jar' that was being raucously played by the traditional but energetic band on stage. He could feel his stress start to bleed away and was suddenly quite glad Flack had dragged him out of his office.

"Hey can I borrow your phone to make a text really quick?" Flack asked, making his reappearance a few minutes later with four beers in his hands, "Mine's decided to freeze up and be uncooperative."

"Sure," said Mac, fishing his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Flack. "I see you decided to start with a couple yourself," he added, gesturing towards the two full glasses of dark Guinness Flack had placed in front of himself.

"Hey," Flack protested, glancing up from what he was typing, "There is no way in hell I'm letting you outdo me. Especially tonight."

Mac smiled quietly to himself as that was exactly what he had been counting on.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour or so and another three beers later, the traditional band which had been playing, bowed off, and the main proprietor of _O'Shaughnessy's_ stepped to the mic.

"Alright folks, in about twenty minutes '_Lambasted_' is going to take the stage, so have a coupla pints and our live entertainment will continue momentarily."

"Come on," Flack said, grabbing Mac by the arm.

"Where are we going?" asked Mac, completely puzzled.

"You'll see," Flack replied cryptically.

But when Flack led them down the back hall and opened the door to a fairly small room, Mac immediately stopped.

"Oh no," he said turning, as he could see who was occupying the room and what Don had been plotting this whole time. But Flack grabbed him by the sleeve and hauled him back. "Come on, Don, you can't be serious," he protested.

But Flack just grinned back at Mac, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Mac, this is Justin, Brendon and Ryan," he introduced. The three waved hello. "And I believe you already know Sam," Flack continued, indicating the one girl in the group.

"Hey Mac," Samantha Flack greeted him with a smile.

So _these_ were the "couple friends" Don had been talking about, Mac thought.

"Hi Sam," he greeted her. "I didn't know you played and had this going on."

"She plays a mean drum-set," Flack told him proudly.

Sam looked somewhat embarrassed. "I used to play it just to annoy dad," she told Mac, "And somewhere along the way I guess I got halfway decent. Quit doing it for a while, but I picked it back up the last year or so and been with these guys, what…six months or so?" she said, looking over to Ryan who glanced up briefly from tuning his guitar and nodded.

Mac smiled. Somehow he didn't have the least problem seeing Sam doing exactly all that. "And how do I fit in to all this?" he asked.

"Wait," Sam said, looking towards her brother, "Don, you didn't tell him? You told me he said he was looking forward to it!"

"Well…" Flack started.

Sam reached across and hit her brother. "That is so typical of you!" she said as Flack rubbed his shoulder. She turned to Mac, "He volunteered you the beginning of this week when I happened to tell him that this gig was going to be off."

"Make sure you got enough speed built up before doing a kickflip off ten steps," the young man called Brendon broke in, holding up his left wrist which was in cast.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Mac replied dryly, having no intentions of ever stepping foot on a skateboard at this point in his life. "So what's your setlist?" he asked, the beginning thrill of performing live music starting to join the warm buzz of the alcohol that was already in his system.

"You're sure you're good with this?" Sam double-checked.

"Yeah," Mac told her. "I'm going to make sure Don pays for it later," he shot a look at his friend who gave him a mocking 'ooooh…!' gesture, "But I'm in."

"Well here's what we're doing," Ryan, the lead guitarist and vocalist said, handing Mac a printed sheet of paper, "It's mostly just your typical Irish song fare but rocked up, and there's some more modern stuff on it too."

Mac fished for a pen in his pockets. "You got something I can write the keys of these next to their title?" he asked when he didn't find one.

"I got a pencil," Brendon chimed in, "Here, we got fifteen minutes yet, I'll go over the set with you real quick."

It was all fairly straight forward. Mac hadn't really performed driving rock-type music in a very long time, but combined with the relative simplicity of the chord patterns that the bulk of Irish music had, he could feel it all come together in his head in a matter of minutes. He felt his heart rate quicken in anticipation and the realization that had been far too long since he done something like this. It also suddenly dawned on him that Flack hadn't given him his phone back yet. Oh well, he wasn't going to need it for a while.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Christine!" Flack called with wave.

She looked over and headed in his direction.

"Don Flack," he introduced himself at her slightly puzzled look, "I'm friends with Mac."

"Nice to meet you," she said with a smile pulling out a chair and sitting down.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Four songs into the set and Mac was riding a high he hadn't in years. He still played semi-regularly at the jazz/indie bar he frequented, but there was nothing like letting go and throwing himself into percussive-driven, loud, no-apologies, _fun_ music. Although his t-shirt and shirt were already untucked and unbuttoned, between how packed the place was and the couple extra lights directed at the small stage, he could feel sweat start tracing down his neck and back and he took advantage of the brief break between songs to roll up his shirt sleeves even higher past his elbows. He looked out to see if he could locate Flack and found him seated at the same high table they had previously been occupying. But there was someone just sitting down with him. A woman to be precise. But she was at an angle to Mac, and with the slight glare of the lights and the dimness of the rest of the place he couldn't see if it was anybody he knew. Flack hadn't mentioned he had a new girlfriend, but neither had he ever had any problems with the women, and Mac shook his head with a smile at the fact that his friend had managed to pick someone up in the relatively short amount of time they'd been there. Shorter even, since it would have had to have been since Flack had introduced to him to the group and revealed he was their stand-in bass player.

Then Sam was counting down the beat to their next song, and Mac was dragged back to the glorious existence of nothing but the immediate moment and the utter thrill that could be found nowhere else than on a live stage.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I thought Mac had to work tonight," Christine said, draping her coat on the back of the chair.

"I persuaded him to take it off," Flack told her.

"Good friend," Christine told him, glancing around. "Is Mac around someplace?"

Flack gestured wordlessly towards the stage where the band his sister was in had just started their next piece.

Christine turned in her chair. "No way," she said, looking back at Flack. "I wondered if he'd kept it up." She adjusted the chair so it now directly faced the stage and watched Mac. He was completely into the driving music, leaning back, face slightly flushed and eyes shining, at times literally bouncing along to a built up percussion riff. "He hasn't changed a bit," she said, a smile spreading across her whole face at the energy and exuberance that Mac fairly radiated of the stage.

Flack glanced between her and his friend. He knew from the spare amount of information that Mac had told him about Christine that the two of them had lost touch several years before Claire had died. And while over the years that he had known Mac, Flack had seen his friend slowly recover from the loss of his wife and loosen up and relearn to enjoy life, Flack would have been hard pressed to think of more than a couple of times he had seen Mac this…carefree. It suddenly specifically hit him that he _had_ never known Mac before Claire's death, and he smiled as he felt as though his friend's life had just been opened up in front of him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They played for almost two hours straight and Mac was both exhausted and riding high on energy when they were done. He helped the group load up their equipment and invited them to join him and Flack, but Brendon, Ryan and Justin stated they were meeting up with a few other friends across the city. Sam said she'd hang around briefly to say goodbye to her brother, but announced with a slight blush and fair amount of needling from her fellow band members that she had someone coming over and couldn't stick around.

Mac slung his bass over his shoulder and made his way back to where Flack was sitting waiting for him, and about stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who the woman was that he had seen sit down at their table.

Flack watched as Mac's whole face lit up and an almost boyish smile spread across it. Whatever repercussions might ensue from the engineering of this last bit of his plot, Flack decided that they were more than worth it.

"Hey Mac," Christine said, glad for the dim lighting to hide the sudden blush that she felt from finding herself more than a bit distracted by the figure he cut standing there with his bass over his shoulder, his rolled-up shirt sleeves snugging tightly around middle of his upper arms, and how the damp ends of his hair had that little curl to them. She had found him decidedly attractive and drawn to him physically from the first time she had seen him as he was finishing up paperwork in her brother's patrol car, and that aspect of him certainly hadn't remotely changed either. But given that he had been married the last time she knew him, neither had she let herself fully appreciate that side of him…until now.

Mac slid his bass under the table and embraced her warmly. "Hi Christine!" he said, "It's good to see you!"

"Good to see you too!" Christine replied with a twinge of regret as he released his arms from around her. "You're looking and sounding pretty good up there! No '_Halls of Montezuma'_ tonight though?" she added with a wink

"No," Mac said, blushing furiously at Christine's reference and sitting down and infinitely gratefully for the cold beer Flack wordlessly placed in front of him, and for the moment forgetting his curiosity at how she happened to be there, "Not this time. And thanks."

Flack looked between Mac and Christine, dying for an elaboration on an event which clearly brought great amusement to Christine and embarrassment to Mac. "Oh come on," he said finally when neither of them said anything further on the subject, "You gotta tell me."

"No, no, that's perfectly alright," Mac replied hurriedly.

But Christine interjected almost immediately, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Mac and obviously relishing relating the incident and the discomfort it brought him, launched into the story. "It was a spur-of-the-moment weekend mini vacation the four of us – him and Claire, and me and my brother who was his partner-, " Christine elaborated at Flack's questioning look at the 'four of us' reference, "Took down to Myrtle Beach. We found a great beach-side bar there, and that last night we all got as wasted as I think we ever got," she glanced over at Mac who, despite himself, smiled slightly. "Anyway, my brother had done three years in the Army, so of course eventually he and Mac started going at each other and their respective branches." She laughed, "Oh my god, those two! You'dve thought they'd mortally insulted each other's mother, grandmother, _and_ sister! Claire and I were dying of laughter watching them get more and more drunkenly heated and loud and invested in the argument. The jabs and insults got more and more ramped up, until Mac finally stood on the bar," Christine looked over at Mac who was trying to burying himself in his drink but unable to stop grinning from ear to ear, "_Stood_ on the bar," she continued, "And proceeded to belt out the Marine Hymn at the top of his voice."

Flack burst out laughing.

"The bouncer tried to pull him down, and as he was trying to evade the guy…" Christine had pause in order to try to control her own laughter at the memory of the whole thing, "…As he was trying to get away from him, he tripped and fell into the tap handles…" Christine brought her hand to her face, her shoulders shaking as her ability to contain her amusement rapidly deteriorated, "…Beer went everywhere, the bartender was swearing at him, the bouncer was swearing at him, he was lying in a heap on the other side of the counter half-dazed while the bartender was trying to haul him to his feet…"

Flack was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.

"It. was. priceless." Christine said. "You sounded pretty good though," she told Mac, clearing her throat and speaking around her laughter, "Especially for being that drunk."

"Well thanks," Mac replied dryly, glad the two of them were at least being entertained at his expense. Plus, the memory wasn't exactly a bad one, he thought with smile.

"So how'd it all end?" Flack asked when he could finally somewhat speak.

"We all got kicked out," Mac said, deciding he might as well join in telling the story at this point. "They," he added, pointing at Christine and referencing Claire as well, "Were _no_ help whatsoever. In fact if I remember correctly, the two of you were making merciless fun of both the bartender and the bouncer at their struggle at getting me out from behind the counter."

"God it was so worth it though," Christine said, irrepressible giggles taking over, "To see the bouncer's face get more and more red and aggravated as he tried to reach over and haul you over that counter and not sure whether to be more angry at us or you…! And of course there was my brother who just made the whole thing worse by trying to 'help', but he was even more wasted than you were… Wow those were fun times!" she finished wiping her own tears of laughter away.

"Yeah they were," Mac said, smiling quietly as Flack by this time was almost sliding off his chair, face brilliantly red as he fought to breathe between the silent body laughter he had been reduced to.

"So," Mac said, turning his attention to the current time and the question that had been temporarily struck from his mind, "You just happen to stop in here?"

"No," Christine said, slightly puzzled, "You texted me."

Now it was Mac's turn to look somewhat baffled. "No I didn't," he said.

"Yes you did. See?" Christine replied, sliding her phone across to him.

Sure enough, there with his name as the ID was the text, _Got off work early. If you're still free tonight, O'Shaughnessy's 9:30?_ He suddenly remembered Flack asking to send a quick text with his phone and that Don still hadn't returned it. "Give me back my phone," he demanded Flack.

Flack pulled himself together and, somewhat sheepishly but with a distinct gloat in his face, slid Mac's phone across to him. "Oh don't worry," he told Christine, allaying the query he knew he would have been thinking of, "It wasn't that he told you he was working because he didn't want you coming out here. I basically had to threaten him to get him to leave work."

"There was no 'basically' about it," Mac growled, "You did." He slid his phone into the depths of his pocket. "You're dead, by the way" he said, pointing at Flack, "Absolutely dead."

Christine looked between the two. Flack couldn't wipe the smug grin off his face and Mac persisted in trying to seem angry at his friend but only very partially succeeding thanks to the travel back in time that had just occurred, the fact that he was still flush with adrenaline from performing, and that she could tell he really was quite glad to see her. She burst out laughing again, "Mac Taylor, you truly haven't really changed a bit!" She smiled at him, hitting her palms on the table, "Come on, order a lady a drink."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Flack eased his way down the sidewalk, looking for a cab to hail and carefully putting one foot ahead of the other as he concentrated on keeping his balance. He didn't care now, but he knew tomorrow he'd wish Mac _had _killed him. He looked back at Mac and Christine who were slowly walking together several paces behind him. Although he knew his friend had consumed nearly as much alcohol as he had, to the casual observer, one would never know.

"I had a really good time," Christine told Mac. She nodded in Flack's direction before smiling over at Mac, "I'm glad he pulled this stunt off."

Mac smiled quietly back. "Me too," he said.

"Take it easy on him will ya?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Since you asked," Mac replied, meeting her look with warmth. He liked how close together they were walking.

"Think we managed to get him drunk enough?" Christine asked after a moment, watching as Flack nearly fell off the curb as he leaned out to try to wave down a cab.

"Oh yes," Mac laughed. He looked up at the sky and watched his breath disappear into it as the warmth of the alcohol in his own system made the chill of the night purely intellectual, "Me too, might I add," he said, thinking with a slight grimace that Excedrin, coffee, and a lot of water was going to be on the agenda for tomorrow. "You kept up pretty good yourself," he told her with some admiration.

"And don't you forget it!" Christine said with a smile, poking at him.

They stood in silence for a little bit as Flack kept trying to wave down a cab without success, mostly because they were all already occupied. It was St. Patrick's day after all.

"So you're headed home?" Mac asked quietly and with a regret that took him by surprise. His instinctual reaction when Christine had first contacted him, combined with the fact that it had been nearly eighteen years since they had last been in touch, had made him entirely unsure what to expect out of their reconnection. He had expected the circumstances surrounding why they'd fallen out of contact to hover like a black cloud over everything, and he'd been surprised when the past hadn't shaded everything like he was so used it doing. He felt light and unencumbered by his and their past when he was around her as he neither had to relate it since she already knew it. And the relief of not having to explain all the unexplainables involved in losing someone close was a comfort beyond words. Not to mention he found her quite pretty, something he had intellectually noticed before but obviously never appreciated before now. It all added up to a cascade of feelings that had taken him utterly by surprise and that he wasn't at all sure what to do with.

" 'Fraid so," Christine said with sigh, "A business doesn't run itself. And thanks to you we're busy nearly every night now."

Mac smiled. "Hey, I just got the word out. You're the one who makes the amazing food."

Christine blushed. She looked over her shoulder in the opposite direction of Flack who had finally managed in hailing a cab, and waved down one for herself. As it pulled up to the curb she turned back around. She took Mac's hand.

Mac felt his heart rate speed up at the simple contact that Christine initiated. She leaned up slightly to give him a gentle and brief, yet deliberate kiss. "I'll see you around, Mac," she told him as she stepped back with a smile and slid into the back seat of the cab.

Mac stood stunned, watching the yellow cab disappear down the street, his heart hammering and head spinning. He felt like he was thirteen and had just been surprised outside school by the girl he had a massive crush on but would die before admitting as such. The feeling of her lips on his, soft and warm, lingered. He was giddily happy, and in that moment he didn't care whether her kiss had simply been a product of the whole night or whether his current feelings about it were as well. His feet felt as if they were floating far above the buildings of the city, and with a smile that was impossible to suppress, he walked the few yards up the sidewalk to join Flack who was leaning against their cab with the most awful smirk on his face. He had seen the whole thing.

"Not a word," Mac told his friend emphatically as they got in the car and pulled away.

"About what?" Flack asked innocently, barely able to contain himself.

"I mean it," Mac said, jabbing his words at Flack

But all Flack did was grin him.

_Oh please not Jo,_ Mac thought, his stomach plummeting. He didn't even want to imagine the smirky glances and bluntly sideways comments she'd give him for days. "I swear, if a word of this gets out, I have more than enough connections and pull to make you see _nothing_ except paperwork for a _month_!" he threatened in a tone of voice that made Flack realize his friend wasn't exaggerating or bluffing.

"She _likes_ you," Flack said with great self-satisfaction.

Mac shoved Flack and his friend burst out laughing. "Oh shut up," Mac said with smile.

"_From the halls of Montezuuuuuuma…_" Flack broke out very loudly and out of tune.

"HEY! No singing!" their cabbie yelled back.

"_To the shores of…_" Flack continued at the top of his lungs.

"NO. SINGING!" the cabbie repeated loudly, "I've had enough of you guys tonight!"

Flack fell silent briefly before looking over at Mac and surgarly singing at him, "_Mac and Christine, up in a tree, k-i-s-s-..." _before Mac's arm across his throat effectively silenced him.

"Thank you," their cabbie said.

"My pleasure," Mac replied pointedly, never taking his eyes off Flack who proceeded to content himself with intermittently silently mouthing the rest of the words of the song to Mac the entire ride back to his apartment.


End file.
